


Dana/Spike Fic

by koalathebear



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have to have seen the episode <a href="http://koalathebear.livejournal.com/797560.html">Damage</a>.  Set in between The Girl in Question and Power Play and also just after Not Fade Away. One evening, Spike encounters someone he didn't expect to see again and she proves to play a pivotal part in the fight against the Senior Partners. The muse ran away from me so I never got to finish this unfortunately although it does 'end'.</p><p>I really liked episode 5x11 Damage because it features Ravi Nawat (who plays Amita Ramanujan in Numb3rs and Freya McAllister in Thoughtcrimes) as Dana, a Slayer potential who was in a psychiatric hospital at the time of 'Chosen' and so is now a Slayer - albeit very damaged and psychotic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dana/Spike Fic

_When I saw you stop the world from, you know, ending, I just assumed that was a big week for you. It turns out I suddenly find myself needing to know the plural of apocalypse._  
\- Riley Finn

_**Buffy:** This is how many apocalypses for us now?  
**Giles:** Oh, well... uh... six at least. Feels like a hundred._

_"The vampire with a soul, once he fulfils his destiny, will shanshu. It is his reward."_  
\- Wesley Wyndam-Pryce

* * *

_"We just have to live with it? Get on with our lives?"_

_"'Fraid so."_

_"Fine. No problem. I was plannin' on doin' that anyway."_

_"Yeah, me, too."_

_"Actually, I'm doin' it right now. As we speak, I'm movin' on."_

_"Movin' on."_

_"Oh, yeah."_

_"Right now."_

_"Movin'."_

"Doin' well, if I do say so myself," Spike muttered to himself.

Let Angel move on in his own way, which to be honest didn't appear to be going particularly well as far as Spike could see. Mr Tall Dark and Forehead had been in the strangest of moods of late, definitely not his usual zealous self. The whole team had been discomfitted by Angel's increasing closeness to Hamilton. Despite the cliché, it was almost as though even someone as principled as Angel was surrendering to the diabolical corporate machine that was the law firm Wolfram & Hart. Maybe it was his way of moving on.

Spike on the other hand was choosing to step up to the plate and move along in the only way he knew how.

Thus for him, patrolling and crime-fighting served two useful purposes. There was lots to do for he was taking up the slack left by an increasingly disinterested Angel, and as usual it allowed him an outlet for his not inconsiderable frustration. Wesley kept him busy with leads - leads in which Angel had no interest. Something was going on with the broody one but so far no one had had the balls to confront him about it.

Spike's musings were interrupted by a shrill, feminine scream from a nearby darkened alleyway. He stopped abruptly and surveyed the area around him to determine the fastest way to find the damsel in distress before she got eaten by some dark creature of the night. As he ran, he hoped he wasn't running to the aid of some wussy girl who'd been frightened by the sight of a rat or a cockroach.

Jumping down from the fire escape, he landed in a semi-crouch and glanced around sharply. Sure enough, there was a growling vamp in the filthy, narrow alleyway as well as a terrified sweet young thing who was cowering in the corner. Same old story, only the names and the bad fashion sense ever seemed to change.

Unexpectedly though, there already appeared to be a rescuer in an alleyway that was becoming increasingly crowded. A slim young woman in jeans and a snug white t-shirt was fighting the vampire, her dark plaits whipping through the air as she punched and kicked with calm determination.

"Can't a guy eat in peace in this town any more?" the vampire complained with a note of petulance in his growling voice as his head snapped back after a particularly ferocious punch from his assailant.

"Diddums," Spike said unsympathetically. "Oy _you_ \- suggest you turn tail and run now unless you're waiting around because you secretly want to be gobbled," he called sarcastically to the young girl who stared at him in shock, hiccoughed on a noisy sob and then scurried away hastily.

"Nice moves," Spike remarked with sarcastic admiration as the vamp was thrown back violently against the alleywall wall by a particularly powerful kick, followed up by a further vicious punch to the head. "Slayer moves," Spike said with a frown as the young girl ignored him and continued to pummel the vamp mercilessly. "In fact ...." he muttered slowly and his frown deepened in disbelieving recognition as he studied the fight taking place before him.

He took a step closer and when the vamp came hurtling through the air towards him, he calmly staked him before he could hit the ground. He shook off his sleeve negliegntly to disperse the dust and stared through the darkness at a very familiar face. A pretty face with huge dark eyes that stared at him coldly before widening.

 _"You!"_ they both exclaimed in shock at the same time.

"Forgive me if I'm not over the flippin' moon to see you," Spike said coolly.

A fist shot out twice, connecting with bone and Dana crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

*

The throbbing ache in Dana's jaw pounded as though someone was wielding a sledge hammer. She opened her eyes cautiously, groaning slightly.

"Wakey wakey Miss Loony Tunes. 'bout time you woke up," Spike's voice commented. "I was beginning to worry I might have caused more damage to your noggin," he told her.

Dana glanced around and realised that she was securely trussed up, the ropes binding her to the chair so that she couldn't move her arms and legs. There were also ropes looped around her neck to keep her securely in place.

"Should I be flattered or frightened?" she asked dryly.

"When did you learn how to speak in full sentences?" Spike asked with interest, leaning back against the wall, smoking a cigarette. "In fact, given how primal and Captain Caveman you were last time, when did you learn how to speak in words with more than one syllable."

"Asshole – that's two syllables since you're counting."

"Psycho bitch. That's three," he countered.

Dana grimaced. "I deserve that," she conceded.

"Big of you to admit it," Spike said mockingly. "Still hearin' the little voices?" he asked her coolly, wiggling his fingers in a faux-spooky manner.

Dana's dark eyes clouded. "Yeah I do - but they don't control me anymore," she told him.

"Now I'm not one to hold grudges given all the things that I've done - glass houses and all - but hope you don't mind if I stay sceptical a bit longer," Spike told her.

Dana tested the ropes cautiously. "Fine. I know it doesn't count for much - but I'm sorry. For what I did to you," she told him. Her voice was expressionless, but her dark eyes were overly bright.

"An Oscar-winning performance," Spike said, applauding slowly, moving forward and circling around her, a speculative expression on his mocking and clever face. "So why are you here my sweet, insane Ophelia?" he asked her.

"Work for the Council … and a bit of unfinished business," she told him briefly.

"Come for my feet this time?" He asked her, glancing down at his scuffed boots meditatively.

"Nothing to do with you," she told him unexpansively. She had a deep voice for a girl, low-pitched and matter-of-fact.

" _Au contraire_ my little nutter," he told her coldly. "This is my town so it's got everything to do with me."

Dana looked confused. "I thought this was Angel's town?"

Spike looked irritated.

"Moving on," he said abruptly. "So you didn't come back to crave forgiveness? Seek redemption, beg me to put you out of your torment?" he asked.

"No," she told him flatly. "I can never be forgiven for the things I've done. I wouldn't even try to ask," she told him.

Spike looked startled. "Sound remarkably lucid for a girl who was half a dozen sandwiches short of a picnic last time we met. You _were_ insane, weren't you?" he demanded.

She nodded and then winced at the tightening of the ropes around her neck. "I'm told that the psychosis was induced by the torture, the slayer memories and a wrong combination of anti-psychotic medication." She closed her eyes and recited as if by rote,"Amisulpride, Clozapine, Quetiapine, Risperidone .... like a completely fucked up cocktail," she told him.

"Oh was that all?" Spike drawled sarcastically, even as something bordering on pity could be seen in his eyes.

"Also a case of mild demonic possession," she told him with a grimace.

"Mild?"

"Ordinarily I wouldn't have been vulnerable but the trauma and drugs weakened my resistance …"

"No antibiotics for demons."

"Just unlucky, I guess," she told him. "Born under a bad sign?"

"Join the club," Spike said gloomily, ashing his cigarette and coming to crouch down before Dana. Her jaw was very bruised but he knew it would heal quickly. "So talk," he told her. "What are you doing back in town? Last I heard, Andrew and the Slayerettes had whisked you out of the country to join Buffy's Army."

"Yes."

"So how did you end up all better again? Discover God? Did they lobotomise you?"

Dana glared at him. "My treatment and therapy is none of your goddamned business."

"Beg to differ," Spike told her, staring into her eyes steadily. "Last time you were here, you went all violent psycho killer on me. Think it's fair I know why you think I should trust you."

Dana stared at him and then muttered, " They expelled the demon. There was a lot of work with me - doctors, psychiatrists, witches, Watchers, Giles, Andrew, Robin and Willow… even Buffy herself ...." Dana's gaze was watchful and she saw the flicker across Spike's face. "I was there when she found out you were alive."

Spike scowled. "Well yeah, no point boohooing about the past.

"I'd nod but it hurts too much," she told him calmly.

"They didn't just cure you, they made you a smart ass," he remarked. "Thing is," he said slowly. "Much as I can't really hold what you did against you - I can't really be lettin' you loose among all the sharp implements," he told her. "Too risky. Surprised Buffy and the others let you go."

"I told you, they trust me. I have it under control."

"Madness isn't something you just turn on and off like a light bulb, sweet Ophelia," he told her.

"Stop calling me that, my name is Dana," she told him with a suggestion of irritation in her voice.

"Or what?" he demanded, looking her up and down, pointing at the ropes tying her hands and feet. "You'll _bite_ my head off this time?" He demanded. "Besides, have you no appreciation for Hamlet?"

He rose from his crouch, his cool fingers lingering on her throat. He unlooped the ropes from her throat slowly.

"You say the demon's been expelled?" He asked her softly, his mouth very close to the pulse beating in her throat.

"Yes," she whispered, not daring to turn her head. She suppressed a flinch when his face transformed into the visage of a demon, his eyes yellowing and the ridges of his face terrifyingly close to her neck.

"We'll see," he said wolfishly and sank his fangs into the softness of her neck.

*

Dana's breathing was shallow as she felt Spike's tongue licking the blood that was oozing sluggishly from the wound in her throat.

"Turn you on, love?" he asked her provocatively, his lips trailing down the softness of her flesh. "You wouldn't be the first?"

"Finished testing me?" she asked him hoarsely, slightly disoriented by the rush of sensation and emotion that had overwhelmed her as the sharpness of his teeth had sunk into her flesh. The feelings had been more intense and more violent than anything she had ever experienced.

He straightened, his fingers lingering in the thickness of her dark hair. "Just about," he told her. "You're right – the demon's gone. Can still taste a bit of it – blood's still a bit _tangy_ , but the rest is just the slayer …. all sweet . _hot_ …," he told her.

"Gross," she told him flatly and he laughed.

"Well, got things I gotta get done tonight so since you're here - you might as well make yourself useful."

*

"Job well done, I say," Spike said in satisfaction as they stood in the abandoned construction site, two dead Durslar Beasts at their feet.

"Yes," Dana said, panting heavily as she kicked one prone figure with her feet. "It was kind of an odd place we found them."

"Nah, they were hiding out at an ice cream shop last time, too," Spike said with a shrug. "Wesley and Gunn had word that these two beasties were terrorising local gelatarias. Broody Pants is off his game lately – not as vigilant as he used to be, so since I've been bored out of my brain, I said I'd help."

"You have a lot of strange names for people," Dana remarked as they walked away from the bodies. Along the way back to the city, they encountered two fresh vampires and a lost demon of unknown extraction.

"You're not bad," Spike said approvingly. "Buffy teach you all that?"

"A lot of it," Dana told him. "They've all spent a lot of time trying to help me through …. things."

"What about the old slayers? Still bouncing around in your brain?" he asked curiously, swinging himself down into a park bench and staring out at the dark shadows of trees.

Dana sat down on the bench as well and shrugged. "I still get visions - just flashes and images really. I also still have the languages."

Spike stared at her uncomprehendingly. "You what?"

"Every language a slayer has ever spoken – it's here," she said, touching her head. "All in my head."

"Well that's pretty damned useful if you ask me," Spike remarked.

"Less useful are Akkadian, Hittite, Sumerian and Etruscan," she told him. "Although the Latin and Ancient Greek come in handy sometimes."

"When you meet a dead Ancient Roman?" Spike asked her quizzically.

"Translating old texts," she told him. "Giles says that I'm more useful than the Rosetta Stone."

"See old Watcher Boy hasn't lost his skill with the ladies."

"But it's good to be needed," Dana said haltingly. "The Slayers are from so many different countries, it's impossible to communicate ….. so that's my job," she told him. "In a way I guess I've finally found my place in things."

"Babel Fish with a sword," Spike commented. "That doesn't explain why you're here though? Pretty certain the coppers have still got the word out for your arrest – you did a bit of damage last time. Not everyone recovered like yours truly."

"I need to speak to the blue demon," Dana told him unexpectedly.

"Illyria? What the hell for? She's even loonier than you."

"Where is she?"

"Look, you tell me, I'll pass on the message – I see the blue bird all the time."

"Only her. It must be her," Dana told him firmly.

"Well I can't bring you waltzing into Wolfram & Hart. Angel'd have you strait-jacketed and in the lab before you could bat an eyelash."

Dana held up a charm. "I have this from Willow and the Coven - she said it would mask me from detection."

"Fine, have it your way. Not sure why I should trust you, but if I'm nice maybe you'll let me drink from you again, tastiest thing I've had in a month of Sundays. _Ouch!_ Bloody hell, I was just jokin'."

*

Illyria's face was cold and scornful. "Why have you brought this human to me?" she asked Spike in contempt. Her gaze raked over Dana, her blue eyes staring straight ahead.

"Told you she wouldn't want to see you," Spike said, leaning against the wall.

Illyria walked around Dana. "She stinks of humanity," Illyria told Spike.

"Really?" Spike asked her. "That's a surprise," he said darkly.

"Please be quiet," Dana told him quellingly.

"But there is something else," Illyria said, tilting her head to one side and staring at Dana narrowly. Her voice dropped low. "This one is broken. Shattered, she is filled with– remorse and guilt. She is weak and pathetic."

"She's always been a bit harsh," Spike said to Dana as if by way of apology. "Always been a bit lackin' in the social skills department - what with being a demon and all."

"But it's the truth," Dana said softly. "All true."

"All right, you need to work on your self-esteem," Spike told her.

"Humans are animals," Illyria said scornfully,"To be harvested." Her eyes focussed on the bite marks on Dana's pale throat. "You have fed on her – is she your pet?" she demanded. "You disrespect me by bringing your pet into my presence," she told him.

"Spike – can you leave us?" Dana asked him.

"No," he said flatly. "I'm not sure which of you is more stark ravin' mad. I don't want to be comin' in here and sifting through the body parts to see who's who."

"I'll be fine. Please just wait for me outside the door," Dana told him.

*

Spike smoked another cigarette as he waited outside the door, his dark blue eyes shuttered and moody. Finally the door swung open and Dana came limping out.

"What the bloody hell?" Spike demanded, tossing aside his cigarette and crossing to her side. Her arm was an awkward angle, her face was bruised and blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth.

"I'm fine, Spike," she told him.

"Yeah you look it," he said grimly and opened the door. Inside Illyria was sitting on the ground, her blue hair falling about her face, hiding it from view. Her shoulders were slumped in a position of what appeared to be great sorrow.

"She's also fine. It took a little persuading. She started out talking with her fists – but it's fine now," Dana told Spike, swaying a little on her feet.

"Stop saying fine," he ordered her.

"Fine," she told him irritably.

"Leave me!" Illyria said in a low and terrible voice and Spike shook his head in exasperation and went to support Dana.

"I don't need your help," she tried to protest, even as she staggered slightly.

"Shut up," he said irritably.

*

"I told you I'm fine," Dana repeated as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"You've been trampled good and proper. Didn't I warn you that Blue there has a temper? Worse than a bloody Grox’Lar Beast, that one."

"She was naturally sceptical about a few things."

"Not even going to bother asking what you birds nattered about. Waste of time," he said bandaging the cut on Dana's arm. The blood was still trickling sluggishly out of the corner of her mouth and Spike looked at it with a faintly malicious glint in his eye.

"Seems a shame to let it go to waste," he murmured and pressed his mouth to the corner of hers, his tongue licking the blood away slowly.

She made a sound of shock and her hands reached up to push him away but instead rested against his shirt-front momentarily. Mouths lingered for a second before she pushed him back and glared at him, her breathing very ragged.

"Waste not, want not," he told her reprovingly and applied sticking plaster to the cut on her temple and used a strong-smelling ointment on her bruises.

"Pervert," she told him bitingly.

He ignored her. "Wesley swears by this stuff," he said, indicating the ointment. "Our lot are so constantly being knocked about that he's pretty much had to mass-produce it," he said with a faint grin.

He rocked back on his heels. "You got a few hours to kill before you jet back home. Anything you want to see? Griffith Observatory, Rodeo Drive or Hollywood? Advise against the last two. People always think it's the Botox keeping the stars young forever - they don't know that most of them are bloody vampires."

"It's ok, I won't go on a psychotic rampage to kill time. You don't have to accompany me." She told him.

"Look, this is a nasty town at the best of times and right now it's definitely not the place for a girl even a psycho slayer like you to be gadding about on her own. Might make some dark creature of the night a tasty meal."

"I can take care of myself."

"So you keep saying. Keep telling you - there's a big nasty on the way and to hear the others tell it, it's worse than the ones that have come before. Besides, got nothin' better to do. Happy to show you the sights," he told her generously.

"Spike, I was born in LA."

"But for most of it you were either kidnapped by a psychopath or shut up in a loony bin. Sorry – is that a painful memory?"

"There is one place I want to visit," she told him.

"Well, let's have it."

"I want to see my parents."

*

Spike shifted uncomfortably on the spot, glancing around the cemetery. "This place is a popular hangout for vamps, so make it quick, all right?" he told her.

Dana nodded and sank to her knees on the soft grass. She had never visited her parents grave before. Never even known they were buried. It had been Willow who had searched for her and given her the details. It had been Willow who had held her hand tightly and told her that she should visit her parents and say the words that had been burning in her throat for so long.

"I'm sorry," she whispered at the gravestones. "I'm sorry for everything," she told them.

"Well what the bloody hell are you apologising for, lass? You didn't do anything to them?" Spike demanded, even as he continued to survey the immediate vicinity.

"I'm strong," she told him. "Slayer powers – but too late for them," she said softly. "If only I'd had the strength then – they'd still be alive."

"And if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. Stop the snivelling. It wasn't your fault and you don't to control the universe. What is it about Slayers and their eternal poor me boohooing?" Spike demanded irritably. He glanced down and saw that Dana's cheeks were drenched with tears although she didn't make a sound. "Stop crying! Now!" he told her.

She glared at him in resentment.

"One moment you'll be crying, next you'll be having violent flashbacks of doom and poor Spike's gonna be leaving here without a head," he told her acidly.

He pulled her to her feet without another word and wiped away her tears with a handkerchief that he swore was clean.

Then he tossed a stake into her hand as he heard growls and the sound of feet running across the grass lightly towards them.

"Look sharp, Ophelia, we've got company." Dana spun around just as the first vampire lunged for her throat.

*

They dealt with the vampire gang in sharp order. Spike was a very chatty fighter, occasionally exchanging insults with his prey, tossing remarks and observations at Dana who wasn't entirely sure how to respond.

Giles had always emphasised concentration and focus. Discipline was paramount, it was a serious task she had to perform and she had to give it the due respect it deserved.

"I've seen grandmothers who move faster than you," Spike taunted the burly vamp who howled in rage and started barrelling towards him.

"And you - no one told you that that look is so last year?" he asked, looking over a vamp's attire with disdain.

"All business, you are," Spike commented when they surveyed the scene with grim satisfaction.

"You talk too much while you fight," Dana told him disapprovingly. "Giles would not approve."

"See if I bloody care what he thinks. I could tell you a tale or two about old Rupert," Spike told her. "'sides, that's neither here nor there. I'm feelin' peckish – you?"

She nodded silently.

He took her to an all night diner, sliding along the scuffed plastic benches and watching as she examined the graffiti and scratchings on the table.

"This is what normal people do?" she said wonderingly as she had her order taken by a surly waitress in a grubby apron.

"Guess so," Spike said, looking amused. "There are nicer places of course – flash and swanky, but given your police record, might be best for you to lay low."

Dana trailed a fingertip along the metal edging of the table. "Actually … Willow hacked in and erased all traces of me from the system."

"Ah, nice thinking," Spike said admiringly.

"I don't exist anymore," she told him, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"That person doesn't exist anymore," he said bracingly.

"I talked about turning myself in to the authorities," she told him, looking up with dark, sad eyes. "But the other say that in prison, I wouldn't be able to help anyone…. that I'm better able to make up for the things that I've done by being out in the world."

"And they'd probably be right, lass."

She looked very sober. "Or they just can't find anyone else who's fluent in Manchu," she told him.

"There's that, too," Spike said sliding the sugar towards her.

"Thanks, I drink my coffee black," she told him.

" _O black as the heart of a perfidious woman_ ," he quoted and Dana gave him a quizzical look.

"No, just black as in no milk or cream added," she told him.

Spike sighed.

*

"No one's ever taken me to the airport before," Dana said slowly. "Even in Rome – I saw myself to the airport. Caught a bus actually …." Dana said as she sat beside Spike in the car.

"Stingy bastards."

"This is a very nice car," Dana said looking about her with interest.

"Not bad. You should see Angel's Viper – I'd 'ave nicked it but Angel is so possessive about his damned car, makes me want to heave. Besides, no need to draw attention to you being in town."

"You really won't tell anyone I was here?" Dana asked him earnestly.

Spike shrugged. "What about Blue back there? She normally tells everything to Wesley."

"She won't say anything," Dana said calmly.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Mum's the word - but interesting that you trust her more than you do me."

At the airport, he pulled into a parking spot and walked with her to immigration.

"Thanks for driving me," she told him awkwardly.

Spike shrugged nonchalantly and then asked her abruptly. "Got an email address?"

"Oh …. yes …. give me yours as well," she said, fumbling for paper and pen.

"Dana?" he demanded. "Clearly you're a master of disguise," he said mockingly.

"Sexyvamp99?" Dana asked him dubiously.

"There are already 98 bastards claiming to be sexyvamp," Spike said. "Can you believe the cheek of them?" Spike demanded in outrage.

"You'll email?" she asked him, looking sceptical.

"Yeah. I'll keep you apprised of developments about the imminent apocalypse," he told her. "Consider me your personal correspondent from the front."

Dana's mouth curved slightly although it was not quite a smile, her hair coming loose from her braid and she hesitated. "Spike – be kind to Illyria."

"Where did that come from?" he demanded.

"She's lost here – alone and frightened. I could feel it."

"I'm not holding Blue Meanie's hand, she's a tough and dangerous one that one."

"Please," Dana said urgently, clutching at the lapel of his long coat.

"Fine. I'll try to bond with her. Demon to demon," he said. "Not easy, the bitch killed my friend – then again, who am I to throw stones," he mumbled to himself.

"I should go," Dana said softly.

Suddenly, Spike's arms closed about her, pulling her close and she could smell alcohol, cigarettes and the unsettling scent of Spike himself.

"Safe trip, lass," he told her, holding her against him. She stiffened momentarily, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensation of being held. Her eyes prickled with something that felt embarrassingly like tears.

"Relax, it's what you do at the departure gate. You hug, you cry, you kiss goodbye," he told her and brushed his lips against her forehead. Then he kissed each cheek Italian style, which made her mouth curve in another almost-smile.

"Oh."

"We likely to see each again soon?" He asked her, staring at her curiously.

Dana rested her hand on his cheek for a moment and closed her eyes. "Yes," she told him without hesitation. "We'll be meeting again very shortly."

"Are we going to be trying to kill one another?" he asked her. "In my experience, visions usually have a habit of foretelling future carnage."

The first hint of a smile curved Dana's mouth and she shook her head.

Spike's eyes gleamed. "Oh ho, like _that_ is it," he said, grinning at her wickedly, looking as though he was intending to pull her back against him.

"Goodbye Spike," she told him firmly.

"Count on it."

*  
The corridors of Wolfram & Hart were always crowded with people. Clients, admin staff, lawyers. Most bustled around without concern for anyone around them.

Spike walked out of a nearby office and stopped, leaning against the wall and watching a familiar figure walking alone.

Illyria's icy blue eyes were blank as she stared ahead of her.

_"Stop it! Change back. Be blue. Be anything. Don't be her. Don't ever be her."_

_"As you wish."_

She could not understand why Wesley's words kept echoing in her head.

Spike's voice made her stop in her tracks.

"Like you're not even there. World trembled before your feet once. Now... padding around a place you don't want to be in, and the rabble don't even give you so much as a polite yawn."

"Do not presume I require any creature's attention," she told him.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Blue. Still...you can't enjoy haunting this place. Less than what you were, not knowing what to do with yourself. Believe me, I've been there."

"And what do you know of it?" Despite the defiance in her voice, there was an undeniable pain emanating from inside her. Pain and sorrow. Dana had been right and despite himself, Spike felt pity stir within him.

* * *

_Los Angeles_

"Is he alive?"

"Well technically he's already dead," a voice said apologetically.

"You know what I mean!" a voice said irritably. A very familiar voice.

 _"Buffy?"_ Spike demanded, opening his eyes and staring at her in shock.

"Yeah, me," she told him, sitting beside his bedside. "In case you were wondering – you did it." She smiled, her blonde hair falling about her face.

"What happened?" he demanded. "All I remember is Angel making some speech about getting to work – you could take a leaf out of his book, love, in the short speeches department …. and why the hell can't I remember anything else? And what are you doing here?"

"Willow worked a powerful spell towards the end and there was that mustafi thing," Buffy told him apologetically. "Giles says that your memory will come back in bits and pieces – but give it time."

"What about the others?" He demanded urgently.

"OK. You and Charles were the worst injured."

Spike stared around the room, disoriented. The hospital-like room was filled with activity, for the most part there were young girls around him in various states of injury, ranging from battered and bruised to severely injured.

"Slayers."

"Yes, we arrived just in time."

"Like the fucking cavalry? You took your damned time," Spike muttered, slumping back against the bed, his body screaming with pain.

"You're welcome," Buffy told him flatly.

"Take it you've had your big ol' reunion with Angel Boy. Please don't make him too happy," Spike told her. "Really not up to dealing with Angelus and his high jinx right now."

Spike was mildly surprised that the mention of Angel and Buffy back together again didn't make him feel anything. Maybe he really had moved on. The memory of a dark-eyed gaze flickered through his thoughts.

"Shut up Spike," Buffy told him in annoyance. "You stop an Apocalypse, my Slayers are injured and all you can care about is relationships?" she demanded. "There are more important things to worry about right now. You and Angel are more alike than you think."

"You take that back!"

"Nope, and Andrew told me what he told you guys when you were in Rome. You're a dope," Buffy told him and touched his cheek lightly.

"I'm sorry Buffy but you're needed in the other room," a deferential voice said.

"Thanks Taryn," Buffy told the wide-eyed slayer with the apprehensive manner. The girl's eyes darted nervously towards Spike, staring at him in fascination. He leered back at her for fun and chuckled as she bolted from the bed in a panic.

"Be nice," a slightly deeper voice said and Spike glanced up and grinned, aware of the ridiculous feeling of delight he saw at seeing her again.

"Was wondering if you read any of my emails," he said acerbically.

"Was busy," she told him. "But I knew what was going on. Besides, I was the one who dragged your sorry ass out of the rubble," Dana said, looking down at him impassively, her eyes flickering over his bandages. She was also very bruised herself, a series of bloodied bandages on her arm, her face very scratched and battered but she appeared healthy.

"You cop a feel at the same time?" he asked her wickedly.

"No."

Buffy stuck her head in the door. "Dana – debrief in the ready room. 5 minutes," she called.

"On my way, Buffy," Dana replied, turning to a young dark-skinned Slayer and speaking in a rapid language Spike didn't understand.

"I'm coming, too," Spike told her.

"You're dead on your feet."

"Nothing new there – help me up, lass," he ordered and ignoring the glares of the medical staff, Dana helped Spike to lean on her as she walked slowly into the ready room.

Buffy, Angel, Andrew, Giles, Willow, Kennedy, Gunn and Xander were already in the room waiting. There were waves and murmured words of greeting. The lack of shock on their faces indicated that they'd all been briefed on the fact that he had returned after closing the Sunnydale Hellmouth.

"Dana – he can barely move," Buffy said with reproof in her voice.

"Oy!" Spike retorted and Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Giles we can start as soon as Illyria and Wesley get here," she said.

Wesley came into the room, half-carrying Illyria who was trembling uncontrollably and clearly in a very poor condition.

"She insisted on coming," Wesley said, looking anxious.

"Let's start – make it quick. Everyone needs to rest," Buffy told Giles who nodded.

Giles rose to his feet. "I realise that everyone has a lot of questions that need answering. After we learned about your infiltration of the Circle of the Black Thorn, we guessed what you planned next." He paused. "We were disappointed that you didn't bother to speak with us or ask for our assistance – especially given that the Senior Partners were going to unleash all of Hell's legions on Los Angeles to eliminate your and your team for your act of insurgency."

"Hey you guys were the ones who turned your back on us," Angel protested. "Thinking I'd turned evil and – " He subsided into silence.

"Our reading into the ancient texts and prophecies led us to discover – " Before he could continue, Illyria blazed with a sudden brilliant and blinding light. She straightened and her hair fell about her pale face.

 _"This wound is mortal,"_ she said, staring at Wesley but looking through him. _"Would you like me to lie to you now?"_

Suddenly, to the shock of all those in the room, she transformed into Fred, sorrowful and impossibly frail-looking. Tears were in her eyes as she whispered. _"Wesley. My Wesley. It's gonna be OK. It won't hurt much longer …"_ Wesley looked as though he had been struck.

Fred's voice became a sob, the air shimmered and her head suddenly snapped back, her eyes rolled back in her head and her body convulsed violently as she transformed back into Illyria.

Wesley was by her side in an instant, catching her before she caught the ground. Her pale lips curved in a very triumphant smile.

"I have completed my task," she told him. "You _live,_ " she said in a fierce whisper.

"What the hell was that?" Angel demanded, wincing as he sat up straight.

"It appears to be a re-enactment of something that happened – or was going to happen?" Wesley said, staring at Giles in disbelief. "What's going on here?" he demanded sharply.

Everyone turned and looked at Buffy except Spike who looked at Dana accusingly.

 _"You!"_ He exclaimed. "This has something to do with that secret trip you made to LA a few weeks back. You said you wanted to speak to Blue – she beat the crap out of you but you didn't seem to mind."

Dana nodded. "I had information that suggested that Mr Wyndham-Price was going to be killed in his confrontation with Vail. I knew that Mr Wyndham-Price was vital for the victory, so I came here to warn Illyria."

"Just Wesley would be fine …" Wes said in a fading voice, looking very shaken as he brushed the tangled blue hair from Illyria's face. He appeared to be completely unaware of the gentleness of his actions even though Illyria's wide eyes made it clear that she noticed.

"Why didn't you tell anyone else?" Angel demanded of her, looking equally shaken.

Dana glanced at Giles who cleared his throat.

"We had to do it with minimum interruption to the time continuum. Although Illyria can no longer walk through dimensions, she still retains a limited ability to alter the future without being ripped out of linear progression."

Wes looked aghast. "Are you mad? It could have killed her, look at her now," he said, staring down at Illyria who lay in his arms twitching violently.

"I will be all right," she told him through chattering teeth. "You are alive –that is what matters," she told him.

"She needs rest," Giles told him. "If an ordinary mortal attempts to alter the future, the time line is ripped into shreds and there is a risk of it being stitched back together out of sequence. Although it has taxed her greatly. Illyria's mind has the ability to process and address all of the tiny consequences that can be affected or changed as a result of an alteration in a future."

"I couldn't tell you anything because only Illyria could know," Dana told Spike with a trace of apology in her voice.

"Why was I so important to the final battle?" Wesley demanded bitterly.

"The mufasa thingy," Buffy told him.

"Mutari Generator," Giles corrected her, looking pained. "Buffy's right. You are the one who comes up with the idea to alter the Mutari Generator so that instead of extracting and expelling blast energy into another dimension, we can for limited periods of time, harness demon energy from other dimensions to use in our own."

"But that's a very unstable and negative energy," Wesley protested. "We could have all been killed."

Willow nodded, holding the ice pack to her head. "Why do you think we're all battered and bruisey?" she said.

Xander nodded. "You took out the angry hordes – and the dragon but we're all gonna have a headache for a long time to come."

"Hey - I said _I_ wanted to kill the dragon," Angel muttered, sounding very grumpy.

"'At least we're still alive so that you can find another bloody dragon to kill," Spike told him.

"You were magnificent, Spike," Andrew said, clasping his hands together and looking at Spike with open worship on his expressive face. "The way you wielded the Gem of Ilarkis ….."

" _Gem?_ I thought I said I was not going to be wielding or wearing jewellery in any form," Spike exclaimed in outrage.

"You channelled the energy from the Mutari Generator that Illyria was controlling."

"Illyria? You made Illyria use the generator?" Wesley demanded in horror, staring down at Illyria whose eyes were closed. "I'm doubly surprised she's not dead then."

"She's the only one of us with the strength and ability to use the generator as a weapon," Giles told him.

"Wesley she'll be fine," Willow said comforting. "She just needs a lot of rest and …. well Echinacea can never go astray," she suggested helpfully.

"Don't know about that Will, never was convinced by that whole panacea to all woes myth. That stuff doesn't really work," Xander pointed out apologetically. "New agey mumbo jumbo."

"You take that back," Willow exclaimed, looking very distressed as Kennedy put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"No, Red's right - the stuff really works," Spike interrupted unexpectedly.

"Could everyone _please_ concentrate on the matter at hand?" Wesley and Giles exclaimed at the same time. They both stared at each other with discomfort and looked away.

"Watchers and former Watchers, always so hoity toity and bossy," Spike complained gloomily from where he continued to learn against Dana in the corner of the room, slightly hidden from the main view of everyone.

He grinned wickedly, leaning against her more heavily than necessary. She was busy concentrating on Giles' words so at first didn't notice. When his hand slid to her waist and began playing with the warm skin beneath her t-shirt her eyes widened and she turned to glare at him.

"Are you groping me during a mission debrief?" she demanded in disbelief.

"Out of my head delirious … not in full control of my facilities, my sweet Ophelia," he muttered. His mouth was very close to hers and if she turned her head, his mouth would be on hers.

"Ignoring you," she muttered. "I told you not to call me that and that hand moves any lower and you'll lose it. Again," she told him sharply.

Her voice became strangled as he complied - but his hand moved higher, slipping beneath her t-shirt to cup her breast boldly.

"When you dreamed about me these past weeks," he teased her. "Did it make you hot? Did you scream?" he asked softly.

"Don't flatter yourself," she told him, even as she could feel her knees becoming a little less stable as his cool hand moved slowly and provocatively across her flesh. She could feel her body tightening. The heavy, insistent ache between her thighs intensified in response to his touch and his words. She turned her mouth towards his.

His lips were cool and assured, brushing across hers with unthreatening lightness but when her lips parted willingly for him, he gave a low growl in his throat and backed her against the wall, his mouth hard and demanding. She seized his shirt-front and pulled him closer.

"Spike! Dana! What the _hell_ is going on?" Angel's voice was sharp and disapproving.

Spike pulled his mouth away from Dana's reluctantly, saw her stunned expression, glanced down ruefully and decided it best not to turn around just yet.

"We miss something?" Spike asked irreverently over his shoulder as Dana hid her face in his shoulder in embarrassment.

The occupants in the room were all gaping at them in various degrees of shock, horror and disapproval. Only Xander and Illyria looked quite fascinated, Illyria having recovered from her convulsions enough to tilt her head to one side and stare with deep interest.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Thought you'd know – want a blow by blow description, love?"

"Spike, get your hand _out_ of Dana's jeans," Giles said firmly and put his own hand to his head as if it suddenly ached. "The Senior Partners have moved to a different dimension to plot and regroup - they'll be back. Kindly concentrate on the matter at hand. Dana that goes for you, too. I'm very disappointed in you," he said with heavy disapproval in his voice.

Dana turned very pale and pulled away from Spike abruptly, aware that she was very flushed.

"Dana, come and sit with me – away from the bad horny vampire," Buffy said with a trace of sympathy in her voice.

For the rest of the briefing, Giles droned on about the outcome of the battle – bits and pieces of which were starting to return to Spike. Angel looked moved and shaken that they had come to their assistance despite their stated mistrust of him.

"We thought we would set up an LA chapter of the Council here because the Senior Partners will inevitably try to return here. Our sources have reported increased demonic activity in all cities with a Wolfram & Hart offices – there is no doubt that they are marshalling their forces and preparing for another strike."

"Good luck with that," Angel said with feeling. "The monthly budget meetings were a disaster. Berlin and Rome never got along, the Paris office were always angry off because they wanted everything translated into French, the Swiss office are still pissed off at the Hannover office for their dig about crappy German accents – it'll take them another ten years to unite."

"He's got a point," Wesley said with a sober nod. "The inter-office rivalries, politics and bureaucracy of the Wolfram & Hart is quite intense."

Buffy interrupted at that point. "Being banished to a hell dimension forever is probably an incentive for them to put aside their differences. We need to be prepared. I'm planning to assign a team of a dozen slayers here, along with their Watchers to set up the LA chapter of the Council. Angel – we could use your help," Buffy told him.

"I'm offended you think you need to ask," Angel told her.

"I wasn't really asking," she told him with a grin and he laughed, the first real laugh in many weeks.

Spike glanced over at Dana who glanced away.

*

"Spike, you need to stay away from Dana. She's vulnerable and fragile."

"She's perfectly able to take care of herself in a fight."

"I mean emotionally," Buffy told him.

"All you slayers are vulnerable and fragile emotionally – bloody basket case head jobs if you ask me."

"Whereas you're just so well-adjusted," Buffy said acidly.

"Bugger off Buffy, this is none of your business. It's between the lass and me. You might be her boss, but you don't own her."

"I'm responsible for her – and I like her. Spike you have no idea what she was like when she first came to us. You saw a part of it, but you didn't see how completely messed she was. She was totally broken – the Dana you see today is a result of months and months of dedication and hard work."

"Yeah I can tell," Spike said, lighting up a cigarette despite Buffy wrinkling up her nose in disapproval.

"You'll hurt her."

Spike blew smoke in the air. "Just because you and I weren't meant to be, Buffy, doesn't mean that we can't be happy with other people," he told her.

"Spike …."

Spike gave her a long and steady stare and Buffy looked very startled.

"You actually _like_ her?" Buffy demanded, looking incredulous.

Spike grinned. "Wish me happy, Buffy."

Buffy's hands twisted together and she smiled ruefully. "I do, Spike. I really do," and when she hugged him, she meant it.

*

"Dana, I realise that you've never had a father figure in your life. Andrew and I will have to stand in, I suppose," Giles said, looking very uncomfortable. Andrew looked bemused but said nothing. He had been one of the Watchers assigned to work with Dana but he had never considered himself as a father figure.

"Spike is …… not a model boyfriend," Giles said inadequately and Andrew looked offended on behalf of his idol.

"Spike is a self-sacrificing hero of the people," Andrew protested, unable to contain himself and Giles sighed.

"Yes he is all that, but he's also an evil blood-sucking vampire who has slaughtered countless people and ruined the lives of many others," Giles told Dana.

"You told _me_ that I could change – that I didn't have to be that person anymore," Dana said quietly, staring at Giles without blinking.

Giles shifted uncomfortably. "Dana – your situations are not in the slightest bit comparable. You were traumatised as a child and possessed …. you injured a few people and killed a few others …."

"And chopped off Spike's hands and tried to chop off his head," Andrew interpolated.

Giles glowered at Andrew who subsided into silence. "Spike on the other hand is a cold-blooded killer."

"He doesn't kill anymore," Dana said softly. "And if anyone should be scared it's probably him. You told me that we had to learn from our mistakes. Not forget – but move on. That the most important thing was to become a good person and nothing was to be served by living in the past …"

"Dana – please stop quoting my own words back at me," Giles said with exasperation.

"Why did you say them if you didn't mean them?" Dana asked him, looking very troubled.

"I meant them." He stopped and corrected himself. "I still mean them … but Spike …."

"He's saved the world, he's saved you.. He's saved all of you – several times over. No matter what he does he can never redeem himself?"

"I don't think Spike seeks any form of higher redemption. He's not like Angel," Giles told her firmly.

"Willow told me that Angel killed your girlfriend."

Giles buried his face in his hands. "Yes, he did."

"And you – you've also killed. Humans," Dana told him. Andrew looked aghast and stared at Giles as if he'd never seen him before in his life.

"Dana – of course not, please don't say that," he told her, trying to shush her, his hands waving around manically.

"She's right," Giles said in resignation. "It's a bit unfortunate that you've been blessed with the gift of Sight, albeit somewhat intermittent. What else did the visions tell you?" he asked her gently.

"More like a curse," she told him sadly. "They told me that you're sorry …. that you knew what you were doing but you had to do it. That you're trying."

Giles gave her a very wry and affectionate smile. He reached out his hand and cupped her cheek before speaking. "And it appears to be _my_ curse – or blessing – to always be surrounded by headstrong, opinionated and disobedient slayers," he told her.

*

"This a private study session or can anyone join?" Spike asked from the doorway of the makeshift library.

"The invitation to you and Angel extends to the whole apartment," Dana said with a frown, looking up from the creased parchment before her. "There's no need to ask to enter - "

"I was being polite," Spike told her ironically.

"Oh," Dana said. "Come in," she invited him.

"What dusty old tome are you poring over now?" he asked her, coming to stand before the table, glancing down over the piles of books.

"How's your Old Hungarian or Old Norse?" she asked him and he shrugged.

"'bout the same for both – crap to middling …." He paused. "So how are you today?" he asked her.

"I have survived many lectures," she told him steadily.

"As have, I," he said coming to stand behind her. "Almost prefer a hell dimension."

His mouth lowered to the back of her neck, pressing a kiss to the bare skin. Her breath caught in her throat and his mouth slid slowly across the smoothness of her skin. "You've been thinking about me?" he questioned, his hand moving beneath her blouse.

"No …ancient runic Old Norse inscriptions from the 8th century actually."

"How's that working for you?" Spike asked her, drawing her to her feet and propelling her towards the door which he proceeded to shut and lock.

He pressed a kiss to the base of her throat before his mouth returned to hers again, kissing her again as he backed her against the door.

"Not so good … lots of references to trolls …. not having that much luck with wolves … rams ….." she gasped. "Or harts."

"The trick is persistence," he told her, nibbling on her lower lip tantalisingly.

"Is that right," she murmured and kissed him back, her tongue sliding against his hungrily, tasting and exploring as he continued to kiss her as if his life depended on it.

"And patience," he told her. "Those uvular fricatives could drive anyone out of their tree," he told her seriously.

Dana pulled back for a moment. "How do you know that? You don't speak Old Norse."

"But I've fought a troll a time or two. Dialect isn't that different – which explains a hell of a lot," he teased her and Dana laughed.

Spike went very still.

"What?" Dana asked, staring back at him when he continued to look at her in a very strange fashion.

"Never seen you laugh before," he told her, resting his forehead against hers, his hands loosening her hair from its tight braid so that his fingers could tangle in the thickness of her hair.

"Never had much reason to," she said softly.

"First time I met you, you gave me a lot of scary smiles," he remembered. "Wolfish," he remembered.

She nodded. "Andrew asked me not to smile for the few months – said I had a creepy and maniacal smile. He gave me smile training."

Spike gave a short laugh. His fingers touched the corners of her mouth and pushed them up. Her mouth twitched and she smiled of her own accord, the smile reaching her dark eyes. There was nothing in that smile of the predatory snarl she had given him when they had first met.

"Little ponce has done well." Spike remarked. "Remind me to give him my compliments," he said and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"I guess it just seemed a bit wrong to be smiling and laughing when another apocalypse is on the way."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Quite the opposite – when the world's about to end, that's when all the _carpe diem_ crap comes in to play. Laugh, smile, drink, shag." He frowned slightly, staring into her dark eyes steadily.

"You've not shagged before have you?" he said accusingly.

Dana slid her arms about him and pulled him closer. Her mouth was warm and hungry against his.

"No," she whispered softly. "Not yet."

*

"It doesn't hurt anymore," Dana said when Spike kissed her hands lightly. The burns had almost healed completely. "Slayer healing powers come in handy," she told him.

"I remember everything now the effects of that damned generator have worn off. You bloody clawed through the burning wreckage – and you did pull me out before I went out in a puff of smoke," he said. "Third degrees burns ……What were you thinking, girl?"

"The dragon caused a lot of damage," Dana told him.

His apartment was shrouded in darkness despite the fact that it was broad daylight outside and Spike closed his eyes, allowing the images of the confrontation in the alley behind the Hyperion Hotel to fill his mind again. The hordes of hell spawn, exultation and defiance in Angel's face, Gunn struggling to fight despite his grievous injuries, Illyria's overwhelming rage and fury ….. and then the slayers had arrived. Not a moment too soon and he had exchanged grins with Dana who was wielding a long, deadly sword with ease.

His recollection of the moments following Illyria's use of the generator were still a little hazy, but he did remember the blaze of dragon fire, the force of the explosion that threw through the air before being piled beneath a pile of blazing wreckage.

"'spose I should thank you," Spike said abruptly, opening his eyes and propping himself up on one elbow.

His fingers traced down her bare skin. Her back was a mess of scar tissue, ridged and healed over with time, but the scars were permanent. She would bear them until she died.

"You already have," she said, smiling up with him with a purely feminine satisfaction.

Spike laughed. "That was self-gratification, not gratitude," he told her and his mouth traced over the scars on her pale skin left by Walter Kindel who had thought it amusing to torture and mark a helpless and terrified little girl.

"They don't hurt anymore either," Dana said quietly. "Sorry my body's so ugly compared to yours," she said bluntly, her eyes flickering to his pale, unmarked body. His injuries from the battle had already healed and his skin was smooth and unblemished. Perfect and unmarred.

"Bollocks," he muttered and then raised her hand to touch the scar above his eye. "See this? Marked by an enchanted sword."

Her eyes clouded over slightly. _"这是我作了。。"_ she murmured distantly and Spike shook her slightly. "Come back Dana – I've no desire to be in bed with the Chinese Slayer."

"Sorry," she told him penitently. His pressed a kiss to the flatness of her stomach, pressing kisses up her body until he reached her mouth.

"No regrets?" he asked her.

She closed her eyes and smiled, panting a little as his clever hands slipped between her thighs to tantalise her.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

"Can't think," he said thickly, his mouth covering hers as his body craved her again.

"I'll try not to ever go crazy on you again," she promised him and Spike laughed just as he entered her again, thrusting deep and hard.

"Too late, we're both of us mad, y'know?"

*

"What are you thinking about?" Illyria asked as she came to stand beside Wesley. Her wide ice, blue eyes stared at him as if she could see into his very soul. Sometimes Wesley was convinced that Illyria could.

Wesley was standing watching as a squad of slayers had just returned from patrol. Dana and two others had been slightly injured in the skirmish and the medics were tending to their hurts.

"Oh shut up!" Dana was exclaiming at Spike who was calling her a bloody idiot without the sense of a new born baby. Through force of habit, everyone else in the room ignored their noisy argument. Sure enough, once Spike had made sure none of Dana's injuries were serious, he was holding her, berating her for insisting on patrolling. "What would we do if we lost our only Sumemic speaker?" he demanded ferociously, his lips against her temple as he held her tight against him, his hands stroking and the anxiety in his face slowly fading.

Wesley didn't reply at first and Illyria also stared at Spike and Dana, watching the way Spike's hand trembled as it stroked her dark hair.

"The world is a strange place, Illyria," he commented.

"A vampire and a slayer? Hatred between enemies being displaced by affection?" Illyria asked him. "This would have been regarded by my kind as weakness – an unpardonable failing for which both would have been severely tortured prior to a public execution.... their entrails would have been torn from their bodies and scattered on the ground before being set on fire."

"And how do you regard it?" Wes asked her, turning and staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Illyria's chilly eyes widened and she stared at him in perplexity. "I do not know what you mean," she told him, her pale, silvery lips pressed together .

"I think you do," he replied. He reached out his hand and took hers. Illyria flinched and stared at it in disbelief and confusion. "I do not understand."

A warmth that Wesley had thought long dead re-kindled within him. He smiled and drew Illyria against him. She was rigid for a moment, not daring to move. Then, slowly and almost imperceptibly, she allowed herself to lean into him.

"I think that this world is a beautiful place," she said so softly that Wesley almost couldn't hear her.

Almost.

**End**


End file.
